Paper Beats Rock
by CharmedMummy
Summary: Rock, Paper, Scissors can be very effective at ending endless debates.  Postep for The Deep 4x2 and You Only Die Once 4x3 and part of my Let's Play a Game series.  Rated T for cop humor and some swearing.


**AN:** I honestly have no idea how this one came to me. Just a random combination of things swirling in my head I guess. It's another oneshot in my "Let's Play a Game" series. It makes reference to Hawkes' injury in "The Deep" (4x2) and to the injuries/bruises Flack should have accumulated from events in "The Deep" (4x2) and "You Only Die Once" (4x3) and the game that is played is Rock, Paper, Scissors.

I'm putting a T rating on this one because there is some discussion of a crime scene and some morbid cop humor. If that's not your thing, then this might not be the fic for you.

Besides "The Deep" (4x2) and "You Only Die Once" (4x3) there are references to "Charge of this Post" (2x24) and other vague references to things that have happened earlier in the series, not that you need to know them to enjoy the fic.

Thanks as always to **Kerry Blue** for being gracious enough to beta for me. I wrote this one rather quickly, so she had a lot of things to fix this time. :) Any mistakes left are totally and completely mine.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _CSI:NY_ in any way shape or form. I don't think anyone owns the game Rock, Paper, Scissors, but just in case I'll make it clear I don't own that either. Oh, and I also do not own any of the fictional cars mentioned or the shows/movies/whatever that they come from.

* * *

Don absently rubbed his abdomen as he listened to an elderly witness ramble on, talking more about what she had been watching on television the night before than what she might have seen out of her living room window. The detective part of his brain- honed over years of experience- was still paying attention to Mrs. Mallard just in case she did actually have a useful piece of information, while another part of his brain was cursing at himself for not remembering to restock his supply of ibuprofen that he kept in his glove compartment. 

Having a building explode around you and rip your chest apart was something that never really left you either emotionally or physically. After more than a year it didn't really affect his everyday life anymore, but every once in awhile a scene would be a little too much like that other one and he would feel a little spooked, not that he would let that show to anyone else. And every once in awhile one of those damned suspects that liked to take off- as if that worked more than one in a hundred times and didn't just result in them having more charges heaped upon them- would hit him in _just_ the right spot to remind him that yes, damn it, that could still hurt.

The last couple of weeks especially hadn't been good for his body. First an Albanian terrorist had decided to slam him to the ground. Even better, that ground had been at the bottom of several stairs. Don had gotten up quickly to help Mac catch and handcuff the guy, because adrenaline is a wonderful thing and can get you through almost anything. But adrenaline doesn't stay around forever and eventually he was left with a dull ache in his back where it had hit the ground and in his chest where the damn Albanian psychopath landed.

Then only a week later he was chasing some freaking James Bond wannabe through the streets and diving out of the way of a woman who didn't care if she ran over a police officer. Tuxedos might look nice, but they were unfortunately not made with any kind of cushioning for those forced to belly flop onto concrete.

So now he was standing here, listening to the nice but senile old woman, trying not to groan from the pain in his back and his abdomen and also feeling like he had a massive headache coming on. Finally reaching his limit, Flack cut off the elderly woman as politely as he could and headed back outside to where Danny, Lindsay and Hawkes were processing the crime scene in the alley. At least, that was what they had been doing before Flack started canvassing the apartment building for witnesses. Now as he came out the door and turned right towards the alley, Hawkes came around the corner and walked towards him. "Hey, Doc, about done?"

"No, I just needed to get something from the truck. And some time to think about going back on medical leave."

Don raised an eyebrow at that. He had been surprised and a bit impressed at how fast the former M.E. had bounced back from his diving mishap, so he wondered if maybe Hawkes had rushed his recovery a bit. Not that Flack could come down on the other man for that, pot calling the kettle black and all. "You okay, Doc?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. It's just those two." Hawkes rolled his eyes and pointed a thumb back towards the alley. "They've been having this fight for days about the best fictional car."

"They're still going on about that?" Danny had mentioned it the other day in passing and Flack hadn't thought much about it, just filing it with all the other anecdotes that Danny often felt compelled to share with people concerning his Montana.

"Yeah. I swear, the next time I hear 'Batmobile' or 'Mach Five,' I'm going to get out my bone saw." Hawkes shook his head in disgust and continued on his way as Flack tried to swallow his chuckle. Sheldon was a pretty even-tempered guy, but Don wouldn't put it past him to resort to the bone saw if he felt it was necessary.

Flack rounded the corner and was surprised to find it empty. "Messer? Monroe?"

"In here," came two voices. A few seconds later they each popped their heads out of a dumpster. There were three of the trash containers in the alley and the two CSIs had obviously decided to divide and conquer.

"You guys get anything yet? Or is it more important to discuss which fictional car you think kicks more ass?"

"Hey, we can multitask," Danny protested. "I can list the many, many reasons why the Batmobile is the superior vehicle while also finding crucial pieces of evidence."

"Such as?" Don inquired, flipping open his notebook in case he needed to take notes.

"Such as that the Batmobile could…" Don rolled his eyes and cut Danny off before he could go any further.

"As in, these supposed 'crucial pieces of evidence,' not your endless debate." The "idiot" at the end didn't need to be said for Danny to get the point.

"Fine, be a spoilsport. How about our missing foot, is that more to your liking?" Danny held up the appendage which had been severed from the rest of the body about mid-calf. The other foot as well as the hands and other body parts had been found in bags next to the dumpsters. Whatever sick person had cut up the vic and wrapped them in different garbage bags was either a psychopath who liked cutting up bodies or just your run of the mill cold-hearted murderer who was hoping the dismemberment would help conceal the crime. Though if the latter were the case, why the perp would dump all the pieces in the same alley was a mystery. Not that Flack was complaining about the job being too easy. That would be the day.

"I meet your foot," Lindsay then said, "and raise you a hand." She held up both of the limbs and Don made a mental count.

"Whoa, wait, unless our vic is some kind of three-armed, three-legged mutant, we've got extra body parts here."

"Looks like more than one body was dumped," Danny agreed. "And we haven't even started on the third dumpster yet, let alone the bags on the ground that weren't right next to the original ones with body parts in them."

Flack groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm starting to wish that damn dog hadn't ripped open those bags and found the first pieces."

Hawkes came back under the crime scene tape just then. "I'm still glad he did. As bad as rifling through the garbage in this alley is, I don't want to think about what it would be like if it had made it to the dump and we had to process it there."

Danny nodded in agreement. "I've had to process on one of the garbage boats before. Believe me, it ain't pretty."

"Okay, okay, so dogs really are a man's best friend." Don jotted a couple of notes down as Hawkes took the newly found appendages from his colleagues. "I got a whole lot of nothing from the canvas. Our best witness is an elderly woman who is addicted to old TV shows and claims she saw KITT parked next to the alley last night. So, I'm taking her at face value and putting out an APB on black, older model Pontiac Trans Ams."

"KITT!" Hawkes exclaimed. "Now there's a car. Much better than the ones you two knuckleheads have been going on about," he claimed, pointing at Lindsay and Danny in turn.

"Aw, come on Doc," Danny argued. "KITT doesn't look half as cool as the Batmobile."

"Looks aren't everything," Don countered. "Monroe agreeing to date you proves that." Flack easily stepped to the side to dodge the banana peel that Messer threw at him.

"Very funny, Flack." The CSI used his shoulder to push his glasses up his nose since his gloved hands were covered in gunk from the dumpster. "But seriously, I'll grant you that KITT is better than the Mach Five, but no way is it better than the Batmobile."

All three CSIs started arguing, talking over the top of one another, to the point where Flack thought his head might explode. Finally he had had enough and he brought his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. That certainly got their attention. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd like to get out of this alley sometime today. So how about settling this the old fashioned way?"

"What do you suggest?" Hawkes asked curiously.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors. Sudden death. If two people throw the same thing, say rock, they throw again but anyone who threw scissors is out. If all three options are thrown, everyone is still in since they would cancel each other out. Last person standing gets to end the debate and there is no more discussion on this topic until at least Halloween."

"How is that a reasonable way to decide things?" Lindsay asked. "That wouldn't have any objective basis for making a conclusion."

"What, you afraid you're gonna lose, Montana?" Danny teased.

Lindsay narrowed her eyes. "Fine. You're on."

"Good," Don said before anyone could think twice and back out. "Okay, throw on three okay?" Everyone nodded and all four held out their hands, one fist over one flat palm. "Ready? One, two, three!" Flack smirked. All three of the CSIs had thrown rock. "Paper beats rock, my friends."

"That is so lame," Danny whined. "Who thought that up anyway? I get how rock smashes scissors and scissors cut paper, but what does it matter if a piece of paper covers your rock?"

Don rolled his eyes. "Not the point, Danno. I won, you lost." He turned and headed out of the alley.

"Whoa, wait up, which car are you declaring the best, Flack?" Danny called.

Don turned with the crime scene tape in his hand, half raised for his imminent departure. "I didn't say that the person who won had to pick a car. I just said they ended the debate. And that's what I'm doing. No more endless arguing over cars that don't actually exist until Halloween is all the prize I need." He couldn't help smirking as the three lab geeks stood there speechless. Flack ducked under the tape and headed towards another apartment building to try and find another witness, his record as the best Rock, Paper, Scissors player around still intact. Throwing paper first had been something he had started doing way back in elementary school and it almost always worked for some reason. He didn't care if paper covering rock was illogical and pointless in real life, as Danny had pointed out. The important thing was that paper _beat_ rock. That was almost better than ibuprofen for his headache in fact. Walking down the sidewalk he started to whistle a tune the others probably wouldn't have even known, his day suddenly seeming not as bad as it did a few minutes before.

_Bang bang chitty chitty bang bang  
Our fine four fendered friend  
Bang bang chitty chitty bang bang  
Our fine four fendered friend_


End file.
